


if you never let me go, well I will never let you down

by estrella30



Category: One Direction
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the thing was, it was never supposed to be a <i>thing</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	if you never let me go, well I will never let you down

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to mediaville for the beta and harriet_vane for being the best sounding board ever. title from a GLA song I listened to a lot today in the car. whoops!

Harry is, quite frankly, pissed.

He knows this. He does. Yet Louis keeps insisting on coming over every five minutes to where Harry’s sprawled out on Zayn’s couch to grab him around the neck and shout, “Harry! You’re pissed! I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen you so pissed! Niall! Come look and see how pissed our Harry is!”

If Harry were even a little more sober he’d do something to make Louis stop. Trip him as he walks past. Give him a dead leg when he’s next to Harry on the couch. He wishes he could figure out how to get his arms and legs working enough to actually do those things because Louis— Harry’s not certain but he’s fairly sure that Louis is being a giant twat. 

“Oi,” Niall says from somewhere near Harry’s feet. “Leave him alone, Lou.” Harry tries to look down and see where Niall actually is but all he manages is to get a glimpse of blond hair and then his eyes start to cross and he has to lean back. 

“Yeah,” Harry widens his eyes and blinks, trying to force himself to sober up. “Leave Harry alone,” he says slowly.

Louis giggles and pinches Harry’s cheek as he gets up. “You’re being boring, mate,” he says, then playfully kicks Niall a few times before yanking one of his arms to pull him to his feet. “Come on, Nialler. Up. Let’s go convince security to let us into Paul’s room and tie all of his shoelaces together.”

Niall snorts. “They’re never going to lets us do that,” he says, but he’s walking around the room, grabbing his mobile and wallet off the table a little excitedly. “Are they? I mean, do you think you can get them to let us do that?”

“Never underestimate me,” Louis says ominously, and kisses Harry goodbye on the cheek. He ruffles Harry’s hair and it feels so good Harry tries to push up into Louis’ hand to get him to rub more. He wishes Louis would stay here with him on the couch and pet him for a little while or something. Maybe a cuddle or two. 

“You’re going to be able to get back to the room later, right?” Louis asks him instead, and Harry frowns. “You want me to take you now?”

Harry doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to _leave_. He wants Louis to stay and talk to him. Give him hugs and get him more drinks, possibly, but Louis is fidgeting on his feet and Niall is already at the door excited to go out and try and do stupid pranks so Harry shrugs. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he sighs. “I’ll just—“

“I’ll keep him company,” Zayn says, and slides into Harry’s line of sight. He’s kicked off his trainers and changed into a pair of red flannel sleep pants and a plain white shirt, but he’s got his mobile and a bottle of lager and is already climbing onto the couch, leaning in close to Harry’s side. “I’m going to stay up a while anyway, yeah?”

Louis nods and waves. “Well then, we’re off!” And with a loud battle cry he and Niall run from the room, the door falling shut behind them. 

The room is suddenly quiet and Harry realizes the telly is turned down low and it’s just him and Zayn left. He looks around for Liam but can’t find him, and Josh is gone too. Harry tries to remember what he was doing before he wound up on Zayn’s couch, but all he can remember are flashes of playing Scrabble with Louis and having to take a shot of whiskey every time Louis scored a higher point word than he did. It makes no sense that Harry’s so pissed and Louis seemed fine when he left, because Louis is crap at Scrabble and Harry is usually pretty good but he can’t be arsed to think about it now. 

Instead he snags the lager Zayn is holding and takes a few long pulls. 

“Help yourself, mate,” Zayn says, without even looking up from his mobile. He finishes texting a minute later and tosses it on the table, but it’s a terrible throw. It skitters off to the side before falling promptly on the floor, and Harry has no idea why that’s so funny but it is. He feels laughter bubbling up in the back of his throat, and the more Zayn huffs - the more agitated he looks as he gets up, rescues the phone, rubs it against his pants to get the dust off - the funnier Harry thinks it is. 

“Wow. You really _are_ pissed,” Zayn says and sits back down, and Harry shakes his head. Zayn is chuckling quietly and Harry leans over, buries his face in Zayn’s neck and breathes in the spice of his cologne. Harry can feel stubble against his nose, up high on his cheek. When Zayn plucks the bottle from Harry’s fingers and puts it down on the table Harry doesn’t even complain. 

“Mmm,” Harry snuffles. “’Smell nice.”

“Yeah, all right, Haz.” He pats Harry’s hair, his shoulder. “Maybe it’s time to get you to bed.”

Harry can feel himself pout. “No.” He curls in closer, twists his fingers in Zayn’s shirt and blinks up at him sleepily. He thinks Zayn is smiling at him, but Zayn can be stingy with his smiles and Harry is still too pissed to be able to tell. It looks like one of Zayn’s small ones, though. One of the ones he usually gives Harry or Louis when they’re being prats and driving everyone crazy, and that’s not exactly right. Harry’s not being annoying now, he doesn’t think. He just wants someone to sleep with and cuddle. That can’t be too much to ask for. 

“Come on, Zayn,” he murmurs. His eyes are slipping shut and he presses his mouth against Zayn’s shoulder. “’M’gonna just stay here, kay? Hug me, dammit.”

Zayn huffs a little but it sounds more like a laugh than anything else. “Yeah, all right,” Zayn says. He shifts around, shoving his legs down the length of the couch and pulling Harry to lay half in the couch and half against Zayn’s chest. 

Harry hums, and throws his arm over Zayn’s middle. “Thanks,” he says sleepily. 

“Whatever,” Zayn says. “Just don’t throw up on me.” 

Harry tries to laugh but instead he falls asleep.

*

When Harry wakes in the morning Zayn is already up and Harry is so hungover he wishes he were dead. 

“Ugggggggh,” Harry moans. The blow dryer is going in the bathroom, and the high-pitched buzz is piercing through his skull. “I’m going to diiiiiiiiiiiiiie.”

The dryer clicks off a minute later and Harry thinks, _finally_. He has a split second of quiet before Zayn comes bounding out of the bathroom and throws himself on top of Harry on the couch. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” Zayn shouts right in Harry’s face. 

Harry wants to kill him. “Ssh,” he says, and swats Zayn away. “ _Ssh!_ Why are you being—“

“So loud?” Zayn interrupts. His grin is positively wicked. “Payback, Harry. It’s a bitch, right?” and he lightly smacks Harry’s cheek. “Just think of it as your dues for all the times you woke me up by banging on my door for hours on end—“

“That was one time!”

“Or when you and Louis made a marching band out of all my kitchen utensils—“

“That was Louis’ idea!”

“Or the time you—“

“All right! All right, fine.” Harry pushes Zayn off him and throws his hands in the air. “I’m a shit mate. I’ve got it. Can you just—”

 

“Be quiet?” Zayn suggests. His smile is a little less evil, a little more Zayn, and Harry relaxes. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry says, and Zayn claps him on the shoulder and climbs off. 

“Get in the shower, Haz. We’re leaving in twenty.”

Harry sighs. “Fine,” he says, and rubs his eyes. He looks at Zayn, tries to pull his most pitiful face, and says, “Zayn, do you think maybe you can get me—“

“Ugh. Don’t try that with me,” Zayn says, and rolls his eyes. “But your tea is already made.” 

Harry flashes him what he hopes is an appreciative smile and Zayn’s cheeks flush a little. He looks away, grabs his mobile and wallet and starts shoving things into his jacket pockets. “I’ll meet you downstairs, yeah?”

“Yeah, all right.”

“And oh, you didn’t hear it from me,” Zayn hedges, “but the next time you play Scrabble with Louis you might want to check to make sure he doesn’t have one of those word cheater apps running on his phone.” Zayn smirks a little and Harry wants to kill them both. “I’m just saying.”

“I knew it!” Harry jumps up and then wishes he didn’t. His stomach lurches and he feels cold and clammy all of a sudden. Zayn laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. Bastard. “Bloody stinking cheater.”

“Downstairs in twenty,” Zayn reminds him, and then the door is banging shut and he’s gone. 

Harry sits back down slowly and drags his hands through his hair. He knew it. He _knew_ there was no way Louis could have actually beaten him so badly. Louis is a bastard and a shit and Harry will get him back. He will. Maybe he’ll even get Zayn to help him. Zayn is nice. He’s Harry’s friend and he takes care of Harry when he’s pissed and lets him sleep on the couch and makes him tea.

It’s not until Harry is stripping off his shirt to climb into the shower and he sees the reflection of stark black letters on the underside of his right arm spelling out _HARRY LOVES ZAYN_ that he realizes that really, all of his friends are a bit shit. 

*

Harry has the best time ever at their interviews that day. 

First, he makes sure to wear his most sleeveless shirt and wave only with his right hand, arm held high in the air so everyone can see his _HARRY LOVES ZAYN_ tattoo as clearly as possible. Every time he does it he’s nearly blinded by the camera flashes and he hears Zayn groan low and quiet from beside him. 

“Are you going to do that all day?” Zayn asks, by their third stop. 

Harry keeps smiling and waves even wider. “Yep,” he answers and chuckles when Zayn drops his face into the palm of his hand.

The situation with Louis is slightly trickier. 

The thing is, Harry doesn’t actually want Louis to know that he knows that Louis cheated the night before. Harry – and his epic fucking hangover – feel that Louis’ payback for that should be much more severe, so he has to satisfy himself with just making Louis uncomfortable all day without actually blowing the lid on his whole plan. It’s a fine line to walk. 

Harry settles for going on record at every interview that day that Louis’ new favorite vegetables are cucumbers and squash, because carrots “just aren’t large enough sometimes,” and that he’s decided to change up his lifestyle and start wearing ladies pink, satin knickers on stage, and that if anyone wants to send him anything in the post he’s all out of delicate lace hankies because he weeps so much every night so they’re constantly in the laundry. Louis narrows his eyes and glares at him from over Liam’s shoulders (and thank god Harry thought of putting Liam between the two of them. If he hadn’t he probably wouldn’t have made it through the first interview without being choked in a Louis-sized headlock) and Harry laughs and laughs imagining the amount of knickers and hankies and large, phallic vegetables they’re going to be receiving soon. 

“You’re an evil bastard,” Zayn tells them, as they walk to the van for the final time that day. He takes a long breath on his fag and huffs out a laugh. “I think Louis’ head is ready to explode.”

“Serves him right,” Harry says. He throws his arm around Zayn’s shoulders and pulls him in close. The others are already in the van up ahead of them, and Harry grins and leans over to say, “Meet me in my room after we get back, I want to talk to you about something.”

Zayn stops just outside the van to finish smoking. He waves Harry inside, and when Harry raises his eyebrows Zayn groans. “All right. Fine. Give me ten at the hotel and I’ll meet you.”

Harry grins. “Perfect.”

*

Harry is familiar with Zayn’s idea of ten minutes, so when he gets to his room he orders room service for them both and gets in the shower, happy to wash the last remains of the day’s hangover off him. He’s changed into sweat pants and an old t-shirt and is sitting cross-legged on the bed munching on a burger and chips when Zayn lets himself in, smiling apologetically. 

“Sorry.” Zayn’s changed into more comfortable clothes too, his hair lying flat against his head. It makes him look younger somehow. Softer.

Harry grins and scoots over on the bed. “I’m used to you by now,” he says, and shoves a plate of food in Zayn’s direction. 

They don’t say anything for a few minutes, just watching a rerun of Friends and eating and it’s nice. Relaxing and comfortable. Harry finishes and pushes the plate away, then falls back on the bed, arms flung wide. 

“Where are the others?” he asks.

Zayn shrugs. “Louis and Liam went off somewhere for food. I think Niall is with Josh? Not really sure.”

Harry grunts and listens to the telly drone on. His eyes slip closed and he relaxes for a minute, thinking how nice it is to just hang out with Zayn and chill. He loves the others, but going out with Louis means everything is always so hectic, so high-energy and crazy. Niall can be the same and when they all get together it just seems like things tend to explode around them; noise and chaos and insanity. 

Zayn is different though. He’s still one of Harry’s best mates, but he’s a little more laid back. He can be as crazy as the rest of them if he wants, but lots of times he just wants to stay in, be quiet and hang back and Harry has to admit that after a night like last night and now the day that followed, a bit of a lie down is really all Harry wants. 

He can hear Zayn cleaning up, collecting the plates and putting them outside the door in the hall. Then the bed dips back down and Zayn pokes him in the ribs. “Budge up,” he whispers, then tucks in close against Harry’s side. 

“So, what’s up?” Zayn asks after a minute. 

Harry blinks his eyes open and looks down. All he can see is the top of Zayn’s head, the shadow his eyelashes cast on his cheek. “Huh?”

“Before. You said you wanted to talk to me about something.” Zayn’s voice is low and he starts tracing his fingers on the underside of Harry’s arm, along the lines of the letters he drew on Harry’s skin. His thumb catches on the curve of the O, drags over the swirl of the S and Harry’s breath hitches. He’d started washing the writing off in the shower earlier and then stopped. He didn’t know why at the time, but maybe it was for this, whatever it was that was happening right here. 

Suddenly the idea of working with Zayn to prank Louis doesn’t seem all that important. Not with the both of them lying on the bed with no one else around and nothing really to do for the rest of the night. The air around them fizzles and cracks, and Harry curls his arm, pulling Zayn in closer, trying to test his boundaries, see if he’s reading this wrong. He doesn’t think he is, but Harry will give Zayn the benefit of the doubt. Give him the chance to push Harry away if that’s what he wants. 

Zayn isn’t pushing him away. 

He’s not saying no and he’s not asking any questions, just looking up at Harry with dark eyes. Zayn pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and Harry hears a strangled noise escape from his throat. He leans down to do— something, he doesn’t even really know what. Look at Zayn or touch him. Kiss him, maybe.

Harry’s never really thought about kissing Zayn before, and now he’s wondering why he never has. He lowers his head a little more, and Zayn tilts his up, but just as Harry’s about to move in there’s a loud crack at the door and Louis’ voice bellowing out from in the hall. 

Zayn jumps off the bed as if he’s been shocked, and Harry sits up cursing out loud. Zayn’s hair is mussed, his chest heaving as he breathes and Harry hopes he looks less disheveled than Zayn does but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t. Zayn licks his lips and Harry can’t stop staring. 

“Haz,” Zayn says, but he’s cut off by the door flinging open, Louis carrying a huge box in front of him, Niall and Liam trailing behind laughing like hyenas. Zayn spins around and puts his back to the others, and something sinks heavy in Harry’s stomach. He’s disappointed, and frustrated and confused because he has no idea why he’s feeling any of those things at all. This was just supposed to be him and Zayn hanging out, watching TV and eating some food. He wasn’t supposed to be _feeling_ anything, and certainly not the sharp sting of disappointment that he’s losing out on time with Zayn. That he didn’t get to kiss Zayn. Honestly, where did that even come from?

Harry can’t think about it now though, because Louis drops the box on the bed (and really, it’s more of a crate than a box now that Harry can see it up close) and Louis points, taps his foot, and huffs out loud, his cheeks going hot and pink.

“Cucumbers, Harry!” he shouts. Niall is actually rolling on the floor laughing. “Squash. Zucchini. Eggplants. There are _cases_ of them being sent to the hotel. I’m going to be ingesting large, phallic shaped vegetables until I’m _ninety_.”

Harry feels his mouth curve in a slow grin. “Serves you right, you bloody cheater.”

“Cheater!” Louis exclaims. He’s still trying to play innocent, but Harry sees the way his eyes are darting around the room, first to Niall, then Liam, then Zayn to try and figure out how Harry knows. “I’ve no idea what you’re going on about.” Zayn gives it away then, the way his shoulders are shaking as he tries to hold in his laughter and Louis catches him. Stalks across the room and pokes his finger in Zayn’s chest. “You, Malik, have a big mouth.”

“He was pitiful this morning, Tommo, you have no idea. Throwing himself at my feet, weeping for tea.”

“I wasn’t _that_ bad,” Harry mutters, but then they’re all interrupted by Liam’s outburst of laughter, his mouth hanging open wide as he checks his phone. 

“Do you know what top three trending topics are on twitter?” he asks.

Louis dramatically throws himself on the floor. “Ugh. No. Tell me. And then, if you can, kill me, please. You’ll do it, Liam, right? You’re the nice one after all.”

But Liam is barely listening, trying to figure out how to talk through his hysterical laughter. His voice, when he speaks, is positively _gleeful_. “Well, let’s see. We have louislikeshisknickers, that’s a good one, yeah? But then there’s also louisneedsahankie. That’s good too. I have to admit though, my personal favorite of the bunch _has_ to be cukesovercarrots. It just has such a lovely _ring_ to it, don’t you think, lads?”

Harry is rolling around on the bed laughing, and he can barely hear anything over Louis’ overwrought moans and everyone else’s hysterical laughter. He feels a hand on his shoulder and when he looks up Zayn is standing over him, dark eyes twinkling and a wide smile across his face. 

“I think this might be payback enough, yeah?” Zayn asks.

Harry nods. “Yeah. I think this will do.”

*

They have a show the next night and it’s one of the better one’s Harry remembers. They’re all just so _on_ lately. Each of them have their own thing but they’ve finally figured out how to get what they do to mesh with the things all the others do and it just, it just _works_.

Harry plays around with Louis and sings with Liam and goofs off with Niall, but he’s also hyper aware of where Zayn is at all times now and that’s new. He feels like he’s tethered to him somehow, like there’s an invisible string keeping them close all night, and Zayn is with him on it. Every time Harry turns around Zayn’s already there, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders when they sing, or sliding next to Harry on the couch. He talks deep in Harry’s ear about the way he wants to pitch the bridge of the next song, and is behind Harry during Harry’s solos, yanking on his shirt and threading his fingers in the back of Harry’s hair. 

It all builds up and by the time they’re running off after the encore Harry’s jittery and hot. He can feel his pulse beat in his chest and arms, the tips of his fingers and in the pounding in his ears. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but when Zayn passes the dressing room to head to the shower Harry follows him, shakes his head when he hears Louis call his name and just keeps walking, coming in close to Zayn’s back. Zayn stops at the door and Harry reaches out and curls his hand around Zayn’s hip, fingers pressing in hard. 

“Harry, what—“ Zayn starts, but Harry just shakes his head, kicks the shower door open and pushes Zayn inside not even stopping long enough to turn on the lights. 

He knocks Zayn against the wall, hears Zayn make a quiet _oof_ sound, and Harry mutters, “sorry, sorry,” but he’s not - not really. If anything being able to shove Zayn around a little just makes him want to do it more. 

Zayn’s body is so sweaty that his shirt is sticking to him in patches. Harry yanks off the stupid tie hanging around Zayn’s neck. Tugs at the top buttons of his shirt for a second before giving up and leaning in, pressing them together at the chest and thigh and licks Zayn’s mouth open on a groan. 

It’s amazing, like all the weird feelings and thoughts Harry’s been having the past few days have all been leading to this. Zayn’s mouth under his, Harry’s fingers twisting hard in Zayn’s hair, yanking his head back so Harry can lick across the salt on Zayn’s skin, bite down hard under his ear. Zayn’s pushing him back but not to get away. He yanks Harry’s shirt from his trousers, slides his fingers up and Harry can feel them drag over his damp skin, fingertips skidding as he tries to grab on, pull Harry closer. 

Zayn’s tongue licks over Harry’s teeth, touches the roof of his mouth and Harry is blindingly hard just from kissing him. Just from Zayn’s _mouth_. He wants to touch him and bite him and pull all of Zayn’s clothes off and fuck him right here, in the dark in a stadium in god knows what town, but someone is banging on the door next to their heads - “ _ten minutes, guys_!” - and Harry pulls away and curses and Zayn laughs. 

“We’re going to do that again,” Harry says when he gets his breath back. He can barely see Zayn but he watches as the shadow of Zayn’s head nods and he hears him say, “Yeah. Yeah, all right.”

*

They barely make it to Harry’s room with all of their clothes on. The entire ride back in the van Zayn held onto Harry’s leg, stroking his thumb in slow circles over Harry’s knee until Harry was so hard he thought he was going to pass out. He couldn’t look up to tell Zayn to stop because he was half afraid he’d come in his trousers if he so much as met Zayn’s eyes, but all that did was have Liam asking if he felt ill (sincerely) and Louis asking if he needed a lie down (sarcastically) and Niall asking if Harry passed out did that mean he didn’t want the packet of crisps next to him on the seat. 

Zayn had just laughed and pressed his fingers down harder until Harry could feel his pulse beat under Zayn’s thumb. Fucker.

They make it to Harry’s room on adrenaline and breathless anticipation. Harry’s breath is coming short, his hands are unsteady, and Zayn laughs when Harry can’t work his key card. Harry mutters, “shut up,” and Zayn crowds in close against his back, his hands on Harry’s hips, thumbs brushing up under his shirt to rub against Harry’s skin. Finally – _finally_ \- the door is open and Harry shoves it like he did the one in the stadium but this time he stops to turn on a few of the lights because he wants to see Zayn, wants to watch his face as Harry drives him crazy, but Zayn has other plans. 

Zayn’s hair is falling flat, half covering his eyes and Harry reaches up to push it back. Zayn curls his fingers around Harry’s wrist, uses it to flip them so Harry’s chest is up against the wall and Zayn steps in, pressing against Harry’s back. 

“Like this, yeah?” Zayn says, mouth wet on Harry’s ear. “Next time we’ll use the bed.”

Harry wants to answer, to tell Zayn yes, sure, this is fine, definitely, but Zayn’s teeth are biting down on Harry’s ear, sucking at the thin skin on his neck and Harry can’t actually speak. Zayn’s hands are yanking at Harry’s belt, shoving his jeans and boxers down his thighs. Harry wants to touch Zayn so bad he could cry, but his hands are trapped against the wall and Zayn just laughs quietly when he feels Harry struggle. That shouldn’t be so hot, it shouldn’t make Harry so crazy to think that he’s stuck here where Zayn wants him, for Zayn to just _take_ what he wants, but oh god, it does. 

Harry’s heart is beating so fast he thinks he might actually die from it. He can’t see straight and he can barely breathe, and that’s before Zayn even touches his dick. Harry hears the buckle from Zayn’s belt clink, the hiss of the zip dragging down and then Zayn is on him. Harry can feel the heat of his skin and the hot line of his dick against Harry’s thigh and arse and he almost comes from just that, just from Zayn standing too close. Zayn reaches around and touches him then, his hand big and strong and almost too rough. He palms Harry’s dick and tugs, shoving Harry harder against the wall with his own hips and Harry closes his eyes and comes embarrassingly quickly over Zayn’s fist. 

Zayn moans, broken and long and Harry tries to catch his breath long enough to look over his shoulder. Zayn’s palm is slick with Harry’s come and he’s jerking himself, pushing the head of his cock over Harry’s hip and thigh. Harry shoves back, wrestles one of his hands out and grabs onto the back of Zayn’s thigh, pulls him in closer and ruts back against him, and then Zayn’s choking on a moan and coming in hot, wet spurts against his skin. It’s the hottest thing Harry’s ever seen and over way too quickly. 

After he’s done Zayn moves back enough that Harry can turn around and then press together, both with their pants half down and come streaking their bellies and hands and thighs. He looks up and Zayn is panting a little, his cheeks flushed pink, but he smiles when Harry catches his eye and Harry kisses him, soft and slow and a little dirty. He gives Zayn a shove and Zayn takes a step backward, toward the bed in the middle of Harry’s room. 

It makes Harry crazy to think about it, how hot Zayn is and how hard he made Harry come, and he shoves Zayn down and climbs on top of him, knees pressed tight against the sides of Zayn’s hips. He’s already getting hard again and so is Zayn and Harry has never cared less about sleep in his life. He leans down and lays his teeth in Zayn’s shoulder, sucking hard until Zayn shoves him off and tries to bite Harry back, and all Harry knows is that he wants to do this again and again. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. 

*

When Harry wakes in the morning Zayn is gone. He doesn’t think much about it because he didn’t really expect Zayn to stay. What happened with them wasn’t like that. It wasn’t a “stay overnight wake up in the morning and make out with me before breakfast” kind of thing. Harry’s glad it happened between them and if it happens again that’ll be great too, but for now he’s happy to have enough free time to make a cup of tea and some toast for breakfast and have a quick wank in the shower before he needs to be down in the lobby for the day. 

If he thinks about Zayn once or twice when he’s standing there, fingers curled around his dick and skin throbbing under the pulse of the spray everywhere that Zayn sucked a bruise, well, that’s no big deal either. 

*

Nothing happens for a few days and Harry is fine about it. They have a bunch of interviews and he’s busy trying to save face with Louis who is still unreasonably cross about the cucumber incident (it’s mad, actually. Every hotel they get to there are cases upon cases of large penis-shaped vegetables waiting for them in the lobby, and Louis turns red and spends the next few hours pointing his finger and cursing at Harry while the rest of them roll around on the floor clutching their sides and laughing.)

It’s a few days later when Harry sleeps through his alarm, and that’s so unlike him that it sets everything off on the wrong foot for the entire morning. He slips in the shower because he’s rushing and hits his head against the tile. Then he can’t find his phone which was in his pocket the entire time because he was so frazzled. His hair is all fucked up because he doesn’t have time to blow it dry, and his favorite beanie is god knows where, probably at the bottom or Louis’ dirty sock pile so he has to try and find another which makes him even later. By the time he’s bolting down the hall to grab the elevator he’s irritated and flushed and already wants the day to be over and it’s barely begun. 

The van is idling outside the hotel doors and Harry jumps in as the horn barks out a sharp honk, barely waiting for him to get buckled in before peeling out of the driveway. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry mutters. Paul is droning on about how they need to be more responsible, focus better, blah blah, and Harry is trying to listen to him but all he can think is that he’s out for the day and he didn’t even manage to get a sodding cup of tea in his system. 

“Hey.” 

Harry looks over and Zayn is sitting to his left, jabbing him lightly with his elbow. “Tea?” he says, and he’s holding up a paper cup with a lid and the strings of two bags hanging over the side the way Harry likes it, and Harry is so relieved and happy he leans over and kisses him. 

“Oh my god, _thank you_.” 

Zayn just drops his eyes and smiles. He looks out the window the rest of the ride and Harry drinks his tea in peace. The photoshoot goes perfectly that day and when they get back to the hotel late that night Harry takes Zayn to his room and thanks him by stripping him of his clothes piece by piece, pressing kisses to every patch of Zayn’s tanned skin and lays him out on Harry’s bed, fucking him slowly until Zayn goes boneless underneath him. 

*

That’s just the way it goes between them, and it’s great, it’s perfect, it’s better than anything Harry’s ever done before. Zayn saves him a seat on the bus and Harry thanks him by sinking down in the radio station bathroom, hard tile squares pressing against his knees and Zayn’s dick, thick and hot in Harry’s mouth. He lets Zayn pull on his hair, lets Zayn hold his head down until he can barely breathe and then swallows Zayn’s come before shooting off into his own pants. 

A few days later Harry will save Zayn a bagel from breakfast when he takes too long to get ready, wrap it up in a napkin with jelly on one half and butter on the other just the way Zayn likes, and Zayn with thank him by shoving Harry around his hotel room after, pushing Harry’s thigh up and out of the way when he’s sprawled out on the couch and licking down his dick, over his arse until he’s right there, opening Harry with his fingers and tongue and it’s so good Harry thinks he might actually burst out of his own skin. He shakes and thrashes and almost cries from how fucking amazing it is and he comes without Zayn’s hand even touching him, feels how Zayn is jerking himself as he does it and then hauling Zayn up to kiss him through his own orgasm, Zayn panting hot and wet against Harry’s throat. 

They fuck nearly every night sometimes, going for three, four, five days in a row, Harry wearing Zayn’s bruises like badges under his clothes, marking his skin and rubbing sore every times he moves. Everything Harry does reminds him of Zayn. The way he fucks Harry open so slow sometimes, like they have hours and hours to spend and how other times its frantic and fast, Harry’s muscles aching from the way Zayn just _takes_.

Harry can’t ever seem to get enough either, just looking as Zayn sprawled out in his bed sometimes, his shock of dark hair, his tanned skin, the black ink of his tattoos smudging into Harry’s white sheets. Harry thinks he could touch Zayn all day and night and never get tired of it. Watching the way Zayn quivers under his fingers, the shift of muscle over bone as Harry moves him up the pillows, shoves him against the headboard when he straddles Zayn’s lap to fuck against him. The way Zayn gets so quiet and bites his lip before he comes, choking out Harry’s name and grabbing onto his hips, holding Harry close so he can feel it, the way Zayn pulses under him. 

Sometimes they get busy and don’t manage to get together for days, and when that happens Harry’s okay with it too. They’re busy, he knows that. They never talk about what they’re doing anyway, but Harry knows if they’re apart all that means is that when they do get together again it will be loud and fast and dirty the first few times to make up for lost days. Harry is definitely fine with that. 

So he’s a little confused when he’s sitting in the van with a bagel and a cup of tea next to him for whenever Zayn gets there and Louis slides in next to him, waggling his eyebrows and making kissy faces into the air. 

“So things are getting serious then, I take it?” Louis asks.

Harry moves the tea back to Louis won’t spill it with all of his bouncing around and asks, “What are you going on about?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You and Zaaaaayn,” he says, drawing it out like the irritating prat that he is. 

“Fuck off,” Harry says. “You’re insane.”

“I might be,” Louis says, and shrugs, “But I’m not the one saving my boyfriend a seat on the bus and bringing him tea and crumpets every morning, now am I.”

Harry blinks, kicks Louis’ in the knee and tells him to fuck off again because that’s not what’s happening. He and Zayn are just— he and Zayn. It doesn’t mean anything. But then Liam shows up and pulls a “trying to be serious but really I’m laughing at you face” when he tells Harry he’s sure what he and Zayn have is platonic, and then Niall gets there and wants to know if Harry’s going to get cross at them for making fun of his boyfriend can he have Zayn’s bagel so that way no one’s wasting perfectly good food. 

By the time Zayn gets there Harry’s had it with all of them – Louis’ smirks, and Liam’s face and Niall’s stupid jokes. He shoves over, hands Zayn his tea and food and kicks Louis again when he starts hooting and clapping when Harry’s hand touches Zayn’s for the briefest second on the tea transfer. 

“You seriously have a mental issue,” Harry hisses at Louis. From next to him Zayn just raises his eyebrows and blows into the open hole in the lid on his cup of tea. 

“What’s Lou done now?” Zayn asks low enough for only Harry to hear. 

“Nothing. He’s just.” Harry shoves his hair off his face. He feels oddly shy for some reason and that’s stupid. This is Zayn for pity’s sake. He looks up and meets Zayn’s eyes. “He’s all going on about you and me and stuff. Acting like a twat, saying we’re dating and nonsense.”

Zayn watches him for a moment, and then shrugs and goes back to his breakfast, completely unfazed by what Harry’s said. 

“I mean, that’s ridiculous, right?” Harry asks when it’s clear Zayn’s not going to say anything in return. “We’re not—I mean, it’s _insane_.”

“It’s not that strange to think, Haz,” Zayn says. He looks out the window and Harry thinks it’s unfair that he’s hiding his face when Harry so desperately needs to see Zayn’s expression. “I mean. We’ve been off together a lot lately and—“

“Well that doesn’t mean anything!” Harry realizes how shit that sounds as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “I mean,” he amends, “It doesn’t have to mean what they think it means. It’s just— it’s just us, right?”

Zayn turns to smile then, but Harry’s not an idiot. The smile is tight and forced and when Zayn says, “Right. You’re right,” Harry doesn’t feel very right at all. 

*

The thing was, it was never supposed to be a _thing_. 

That’s all Harry can think about as they’re out that entire day, Zayn trying to stay a few steps away from Harry whenever he can, and Louis flashing him that stupid knowing smile every time Harry flinches at the sound of Zayn’s voice. By the time they get back to the hotel Harry feels like if he doesn’t talk to Zayn he’s going to explode. Things are weird and they’re never weird; that’s the best part about whatever it is that they have between them. The fact that they don’t talk, that things don’t get strange. It makes no sense to Harry to have these feelings like Zayn is cross with him about something. That’s not what they’re supposed to be. 

He’s barely in his room long enough to change his clothes and shove his phone in his pocket and then he’s striding down the hall to Zayn’s room and letting himself in with the key Zayn gave him. 

Zayn’s out on the terrace smoking, and Harry just stands there, watching him and trying not to notice how gorgeous Zayn is. How amazing he looks in nothing but a pair of track pants, his chest bare and glowing under the soft lights from inside the room. 

“Hey,” Zayn says. He stubs out the butt of his fag. Drops it into the ashtray before turning around, his face carefully blank. “Didn’t know if I was going to see you tonight.”

“I. Yeah,” Harry stammers. He crosses the room feeling unsure for the first time in weeks. “Should I go?”

Zayn drops his head and laughs quietly. “No, Harry. You definitely shouldn’t go.”

Harry breathes out a sigh and stops at the foot of Zayn’s bed. He clenches and unclenches his fingers. His pulse is thrumming hard, making his hands shake but he just stands there and waits. Zayn crosses the room, meets him by the bed and watches him, dark eyes curious and waiting. 

“It’s just – it feels like something is wrong,” Harry says anxiously. He’s twisting his fingers together then forces them down to hang by his sides. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that can’t be because we’re cool right? I mean. We’re not making this into a _thing_ or anything.”

“Right,” Zayn says. “It’s fine.”

“Because Louis and the others were just being prats. I know that’s how they are but I don’t want them to be stupid and have you think anything is weird and then it, I don’t know, fucks things up or something.” Harry stops and takes a deep breath. Those were officially more words than he ever expected to say to Zayn about any of this. He stares at Zayn and desperately wills him to say something back, anything so Harry knows how Zayn feels about this. Anything at all. 

Zayn just says, “Come here,” really softly, and pulls Harry closer by the hand. 

Harry loves the way Zayn’s fingers feel between his. It makes him think about all the times he’s held Zayn down, all the times Zayn’s pulled him by the hand to his bed or Harry’s bed or the dressing room after a photoshoot and tonight it’s no exception. 

Harry threads his fingers through Zayn’s and goes to move them to the bed but Zayn holds still, stops Harry in his tracks and threads the fingers of his other hand into Harry’s hair, pulling him down into a kiss. 

Harry doesn’t know why but it feels different than how Zayn usually kisses him. It’s softer for one thing, Zayn’s mouth slanting over his in a slow caress, his tongue gently licking at Harry’s mouth. Zayn kisses him and Harry groans, pulls Zayn in and slots their bodies together and tries again not to notice how perfectly they fit. How Zayn’s mouth is level with Harry’s, how their chests touch in the exact same place. 

Zayn keeps kissing him, licking into Harry’s mouth, tilting his head so he can kiss him deeper and Harry gets dizzy, lost in Zayn’s mouth and teeth and tongue. He thinks this is maybe the most amazing kiss he’s ever had, that’s Zayn’s the most perfect person he’s ever been with, and then he shakes himself to make himself stop thinking things like that. 

“Come on, Zayn,” Harry breathes. “Just. I want you to fuck me.”

Zayn does. He pushes Harry onto the bed and kisses every inch of his skin. He slicks Harry open, bites at the inside of his thighs, and slides inside him so achingly slow, so deep that Harry wants to scream or cry, he can’t decide which. 

It’s not like any other time they’ve been together. Every other time Harry knew what Zayn was thinking, what he was feeling, or at least he thought he knew. Now though Zayn is quiet, kissing Harry’s shoulder, his cheek and face and Harry kisses him back, twists his fingers in Zayn’s hair and holds him down while Harry licks into his mouth. 

“Zayn. Zayn, please—“

“What?” Zayn bites into his skin. “Come on, Harry. Tell me what you want.”

Harry just shakes his head. He can’t tell Zayn what he wants because he barely knows himself. He just wants Zayn here. Wants him to stay. To keep fucking him and wanting him and Harry doesn’t know what to do with that anymore. “Just _please_ ,” he says, and that’s enough for Zayn. He holds Harry close, his arms around Harry’s back hauling him up and making him come when he’s pressed against Zayn’s chest with nowhere else to look, no one else to see but him. 

“Zayn, come on, I need you to come.” Harry feels desperate and crazy. Like nothing will ever be okay if Zayn doesn’t come inside him right now. Zayn is pressed so close Harry can’t tell where their skin is supposed to be apart. He’s never had Zayn wrapped around him like this, never felt anyone almost melt into him, arms and legs and bodies twisted into one thing, and Harry never wants it to stop. It scares the shit out of him. 

Zayn comes and Harry holds him while he gasps and shudders, mouth pressed into Harry’s chest and throat. Zayn pulls out and falls asleep after, and Harry waits until he’s snoring softly before letting himself out of the room. 

*

Harry doesn’t mean to ignore Zayn after that. It just sort of happens. 

Harry makes sure to sit next to Niall in the van the next morning, joking a little too much and too loud and ignoring the way Zayn keeps trying to get his attention from the other side of the seats. Then he squeezes into the way too small space between Liam and Louis at their interview, making them all shove over so he doesn’t have to sit in the place Zayn saved for him. Zayn looks confused and a little hurt and it makes Harry feel like shit, but then he gets annoyed at himself and confused as to why he’s feeling anything at all and he pushes it to the back of his mind. Does his best to ignore it. 

It keeps going on like that all day long. Zayn gets him food, Harry ignores him. Zayn puts his hand on Harry elbow and tries to talk to him, Harry pulls away, claims that he’s late for something somewhere and bolts. It’s not as if Zayn is doing anything strange or different; this is how the two of them have been acting for weeks. How _all_ of them act around each other most of the time if Harry really thinks about it. It just feels like too much all of a sudden. Now with everyone thinking things and Zayn and the way he touched Harry the night before, the way he looked at him, as if Harry were someone special and important. Harry is confused and wrecked in the head from it and just doesn’t want to deal.

He hits an absolute low that night, when instead of staying in his own room he stays with Louis. He’s being awful. The worst kind of coward, but when his phone buzzes with a text from Zayn asking where he is Harry pretends not to see it. He turns the other way on the couch and shoves his face into the cushions. Thumbs his phone off. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Louis asks.

“Fuck off,” Harry says and throws a pillow at his head. 

It goes that way for the next few days. Zayn trying to talk to Harry, to see him, and Harry always finding something else to do, somewhere else to be. He ignores Zayn’s blank expression, tells himself he doesn’t feel bad about it at all, and it’s fine, really. It’s not the best way to deal with things, nor is it particularly productive, but it’s all Harry’s got right now and he’s just going to go with it. 

And then Harry gets sick. 

It’s nothing terrible. Just a fever and a bad cold, but it’s enough to Paul call a medic who tells them Harry can’t go to interviews or sing right now and has to spend the majority of the next few days laid up in his hotel room, sleeping and getting whatever rest he can. 

They’re on a break so it’s fine. It’s the best time for it to possibly happen, and Harry tries to console himself with that knowledge. At least if he’s being a dick it’s not actually fucking up the band, and Harry really feels so, so awful. Achy and hot and sticky. His throat burns every time he swallows and his head feels like there’s a vice wrapped around it, squeezing tighter and tighter the longer he’s awake. 

He’s stuck in his own room, Louis flat out forbidding Harry to go anywhere near his things with Harry’s germs and Harry can’t blame him. He lies in bed watching terrible infomercials all day long and concentrates on breathing and not dying. It’s a fairly tall order. Everyone comes to visit him: Niall bringing him cranberry juice and Liam terrible American gossip magazines and Louis a hot pink rubber chicken he found in the hotel gift shop.

Harry’s not surprised when Zayn shows up. He figures it was only a matter of time. Zayn had been trying to corner him to talk all week and now Harry is trapped sick in bed in his own room and Zayn has a key and, well, Harry really has no way of stopping him from coming in if he wants. 

He’s lying down, facing away from the door when Zayn gets there and Harry doesn’t even have to look to know it’s him. He knows Zayn’s footsteps and how it sounds when he breathes. Harry can feel the way the air crackles just from Zayn being around him and he’s glad he feels so awful. If he didn’t he has no idea what he’d do with all the feelings that are bubbling up in his chest, pressing against his bones and threatening to spill out. 

Zayn doesn’t bring him anything. No tea or soup or stupid magazine to pass the time. Harry hears him kick off his shoes and then the blankets rustle and Zayn is crawling into the bed behind him, his skin cool and soft where it presses against Harry and Harry shivers. 

“You should go,” he croaks. “You’re gonna get sick.”

“Shut up, Haz,” Zayn says softly and throws an arm over Harry’s waist. 

Harry keeps his eyes closed. He’s tired and sick and Zayn being there is almost too much. His head hurts when he tries to think, his body aches and Zayn’s fingers drift over Harry’s stomach, slide up under his shirt and Harry breathes out, puts his hand on top of Zayn’s and links their fingers together.

“Get some sleep,” Zayn says against Harry’s ear, and Harry is too tired to argue or fight it so he does.

*

It take four days for Harry’s sickness to really break, and by then they’re all so tired from being cooped up in the hotel looking after him that they all jump at the chance to go out for the night. Paul finds them a club not too far from where they’re staying and calls ahead so there’s a nice table in the corner all roped off for the five of them to hang out and have a few drinks together. 

It’s dark and hot inside, the lights pulsing in time to the thumping music. Harry’s almost too happy to be out, a low thrum of excitement thrumming through his blood making every touch to his skin feel like fire. He dances with Louis for a while and then goes and does a few shots at the bar with Niall. Liam is in the corner talking to Zayn, and Harry gives them both a wave as he leans over the bar, signaling the bartender that he needs some more drinks. 

“Again?” the bartender asks. She’s gorgeous. Tall and blonde with a perfect smile and the nicest body Harry’s seen in a good long time. 

He flashes her his best grin and leans forward. “Definitely.”

The music keeps going and Harry sways along with it, his hips moving slowly to the best. The bartender’s name is Angela. She’s twenty-seven and works at the club on the weekends and she keeps filling his glass before it even has a chance to be empty. She knows who they are and thinks Harry is “cute” and Harry laughs, happy to have someone new to talk to. Happy to have a pretty girl around. 

He chats her up for a little while longer, waving off both Louis and Niall when they come to get him, and Harry knows he’s being a shit. He knows Zayn is there, knows Zayn can see him. He also knows deep in his gut that he’s not going to leave with her so he shouldn’t be leading her on, especially not when Zayn is right there watching. 

Harry doesn’t understand why he’s been doing any of the things he’s been doing lately, but this might actually be the worst. It’s not anything new for Harry to go out and pick someone up – guy, girl, doesn’t really matter – but it’s new to feel like he really doesn’t want to be doing it. Like he’s hurting someone else by doing it. Harry’s been telling himself that he could still do this, that it was fine, that him and Zayn were never meant to be anything serious. It was just supposed to be a little fun between mates. 

Harry has no idea how he could have been so wrong. He feels an angry tap on the shoulder and knows it’s Zayn before he even turns around. 

“Are you seriously—“ Zayn hisses and yanks Harry forward by the wrist. Their bodies crash together and then Zayn shoves him back, hard. “Are you fucking pulling right here? Right—“ he cuts off whatever else he was going to say and all of a sudden every reason Harry had in his head sounds truly awful. _We were never supposed to be serious_ , and _I didn’t think it would matter_ , and _I didn’t think you would care_. Because Zayn is still squeezing Harry’s wrist hard enough to bruise, but when he looks down and sees his own fingers there he drops Harry’s hand like it physically hurts him to be touching Harry. In a split second Zayn’s eyes go carefully blank, he takes a deep breath and steps back and Harry wants to shout _Wait, I didn’t mean it_ , but it’s too late. 

“You know what?” Zayn finally says, and his voice sounds like ice. Harry shivers. His stomach rolls. “Fuck you, Haz.” 

He walks away and Harry goes to follow, but Liam’s hand on his arm stops him. “You need to let him go, Harry.” Even Liam sounds cross. Harry doesn’t blame him. 

He watches Zayn’s back as it disappears through the door of the club. “Yeah. All right.”

*

Harry leaves not long after under the heavily disapproving stares of Liam and Niall. Louis manages to clap Harry on the shoulder and pull him in a half hug. “Ring me later if you want,” he tells Harry, but that just makes him feel even worse. When even Louis knows you’ve fucked up, you’ve _massively_ fucked up. Harry’s not so much an idiot that he doesn’t know that. 

He drags his feet through the hotel halls until he gets to Zayn’s room and then he stands there for a few minutes until he stops chickening out. Thankfully Harry still has Zayn’s key. Zayn looked angry enough that Harry wouldn’t put it past him to leave Harry standing out in the hall all night.

“All right,” Harry says under his breath, and then he slides the key into the door and pushes it open. “Here we go.”

Zayn is pacing. His room is a wreck, clothes and shoes tossed in every direction, and the door to the terrace is open, letting cool air blow around the room. He’s got both the telly and his music on too loud, and he’s storming around, kicking anything that comes into his path. 

He whips around when he hears the door open, and stares at Harry like he’s insane. Like he can’t believe Harry is actually standing there. 

“Don’t,” Zayn says. He points a finger and Harry tries not to get distracted by the pull of Zayn’s shirt across his shoulders. The way he’s breathing so heavy his cheeks and neck are all pink and warm looking. “Don’t you even fucking come in here.”

“Zayn, I’m sorry, I want to—“

“Oh, fuck you, Harry.” Zayn storms over and pushes against Harry’s chest. Shoves him back hard. “You’re such a dick.”

“I am, Zayn, I know. I’m so— “

But Zayn’s not having it. He’s not listening to Harry and he’s not giving him a chance to talk. He just shoves Harry again even harder and Harry stumbles, has to grab onto the dresser so he doesn’t fall. Harry tries to push back but Zayn’s got adrenaline and anger on his side and all Harry has is guilt. Zayn kicks one of his trainers lying on the floor halfway across the room, and Harry pulls his arms away, tries to touch Zayn somehow that will get him to look at Harry. Listen to him, maybe. 

“Zayn. _Zayn_.” Harry’s back is to the wall now and the only option is for Zayn to either let him go or punch him. Harry has no idea which way he’s leaning, but he’s bracing himself for the punch. He deserves Zayn to punch him. If he were Zayn he’d have punched him a long time ago, and it makes Harry feel awful to think that. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever get over hurting Zayn so badly.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, because he can’t put it more simply than that. “I’m really, _really_ sorry.”

“For what?” Zayn sneers. “You want a list? You were practically fucking that girl in the club tonight, so that’s one. Ignoring me all week? That’s another. Acting like an absolute bloody _shit_ for no reason other than the fact that I—“ he stops then, breath coming out in a rush. His face is red and he’s looking directly at Harry, letting him see how Harry made him feel. How much he hurts.

Harry’s throat is tight. His heart is pounding against his breastbone and he can’t catch his breath. He’s never felt like this before, like he’s been the person so make someone so unhappy, and the longer he looks at Zayn the more Zayn seems to almost deflate right in front of Harry’s eyes. Harry can’t stand it. He can’t take it anymore. He wraps his arms around Zayn and pulls him in against his chest. Zayn struggles, tries to pull away at first but Harry doesn’t let him. Just kisses the top of his head and the stubble high on his cheek. 

 

“For all of it,” he says slowly. “I’m sorry for all of it. I didn’t—“ Harry takes a deep breath and cups Zayn’s face. Tilts his head up until he can see his expression, broken and raw. “I didn’t expect it to turn into this. You and me. And I just – I acted like a shit because I freaked out.”

Zayn snorts but he’s not leaving. He’s not pulling away anymore so Harry’s going to count that as a win for now and keep going. “I’m not really good at this, Zayn. At being—” he trails off, trying to find the right word. 

“At being what?” Zayn supplies. “Serious? A normal person? Not an arsehole?”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugs. “All of those, I guess.” He leans down, presses his mouth to Zayn’s cheek, then his neck and collarbone. “I’ve never had to. Never really wanted to. But when it’s you it’s—” he swallows past the lump in his throat because this is it. Harry has to stop fucking this up, starting now. “When it’s you I want to try.”

Zayn just looks at him. His eyes flick over Harry’s face, down his throat. He steps in a little closer but Harry is afraid to hope. He doesn’t deserve Zayn. He knows that. So when Zayn says, “ok,” it’s so quiet that Harry doesn’t even hear him. 

“And I know I don’t deserve it,” Harry keeps going, voice starting to get frantic. He _needs_ Zayn to understand this. It’s taken Harry so long to figure it out himself that he has to make sure Zayn really _gets_ it. “I _know_ I don’t deserve it because I was terrible and I’m sorry – I’m so so _so_ sorry and I promise I’ll make it up to you however you want—wait.” Harry steps back and blinks. “Did you say ok?”

“Well I did but maybe I’m going to change my mind,” Zayn says slowly He’s trying to hard not to smile but he’s losing. It’s the best thing Harry’s ever seen in his life, ever. He plans on making Zayn smile a lot more from now on. 

“I mean, I said ok before you said you were going to make it up to me however I wanted,” Zayn hedges, and then he grins, full and wide, and Harry leans down and kisses him and it’s the best kiss he’s probably had in his entire life. It’s _I’m sorry_ and _I forgive you_ and _we’re going to be great_ all in one. Harry has never loved kissing Zayn more. He’s never loved Zayn more, not that he’s going to tell him that, but with the way Zayn is smiling at him, and yanking Harry’s clothes off as he pulls him over to the bed, Harry’s fairly certain that Zayn knows anyway. 

*

“Ok. Do you really think we got it all?”

Zayn’s voice is a quiet and Harry crouches down around the corner of the hall to whisper against his ear. “I think so. I got the clothes and shoes.”

“And I got all of his luggage.”

“I got the food and books.”

“And I got the bathroom stuff.”

Harry giggles and buries his face against Zayn’s neck. “Oh my god. We just glued _every one_ of Louis’ things down in his room. Like, every single thing.”

“Yes,” Zayn says patiently. “We did. And now we’re _done_ with the pranking, right?”

“Right. Yes. Definitely.” Harry laughs softly again, and licks a stripe over Zayn’s stubble. Zayn turns his head and Harry catches his eye. He smiles at the warm look Zayn is giving him. His stomach goes hot and fluttery. “Hey,” Harry whispers, and leans in to gently kiss Zayn’s mouth. 

Zayn hums against his lips happily, and when he pulls back Harry’s pretty sure his face is as pink as Zayn’s is. That he has the same stupid look in his eyes. 

Harry’s never been happier. 

“Oh, shit. He’s coming,” Zayn says. They pull back into the alcove as far from sight as they can get and watch Louis pass them across the hall, pausing to slide his keycard into the slot and hearing the soft beep as the door opens and he disappears inside. 

“Oh my god, so soon. So soon!” Harry says, excitement thrumming through his veins. This is going to be the best prank ever. _Ever_. He kisses Zayn again, quick and fierce. “We make an _awesome_ team.”

“The best,” Zayn says, just as Louis voices bellows out from his room. “Now run!” 

Harry yanks him up by the hand and they’re laughing together as they run down the hall.

 

 

-end-


End file.
